


Pyrotechnics

by mag_nifique



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Minor Canonical Character(s), Post-Hogwarts, Romance, sassy characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mag_nifique/pseuds/mag_nifique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seamus Finnigan doesn't like irate customers.</p><p>Hazel McDonald is a very irate customer who can't seem to stay away from him, explosions and all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> A currently unfinished novella which I originally began posting over at HPFF.

The last thing Seamus Finnigan wanted to deal with the day before the expected rush of Hogwarts students doing their before-term shopping was an irate customer. She had been owling him for the past hour, ensuring that their appointment would be kept and he had a blistering headache because of it. And if that _wasn’t bad enough_ , George was out and not only was Seamus in charge of the fireworks/pyro section of the shop, he was in charge of the whole bloody thing. He appreciated that George was trusting in his abilities, but Seamus wasn’t sure whether that was a wise decision or not. Fireworks were his specialty, and despite working in the shop for the past two years, since graduating what was left of Hogwarts, he still didn’t know much about the random bits and odds that George kept coming up with.

He was like a man possessed since the anniversary of Fred’s death and the battle of Hogwarts. Everything had to be bigger and better and he was driving the staff mad. Including Seamus, but he was the only one of them brave enough to only call in fake sick once a week. He heard the ring of the bell signaling someone had come in the shop and he hoped it wasn’t the irate customer. What was her name again? Ah well, he couldn’t remember but he was sure she would introduce herself again. It was only polite, after all.

Then again, she hadn’t really shown herself to be that polite via owl, so he wasn’t sure if he could expect better behavior in person. Not that he was one to judge. Seamus was known for being a bit of a hot-head, and politeness was not something he practiced with much diligence.

Seamus slid down the railing of the swirly staircase and hopped off directly in front of a statuesque redhead. She vaguely reminded him of Ginny Weasley, but taller and angrier-looking, if that was possible. Up to this point in his life, Seamus would have argued that it wasn’t possible. Now though, he wasn’t so sure.

“You’re Seamus Finnigan, correct? The bloke that sold me these bloody useless fireworks?” she said, shaking a fist full of soggy-looking fireworks at him. Her azure eyes flashed like lightning and Seamus had to literally step back. The air around her seemed to crackle the way it did before a storm and he had a bad feeling about this. He didn’t get a chance to respond before she continued her tirade. “Why the sodding hell won’t you give me my galleons back? These have a lifetime warranty and I won’t be cheated out of it.” She continued to shake the fireworks in his face and Seamus grimaced. It had been a few weeks since something had exploded in his face, and he’d rather it not happen again anytime soon.

As Professor McGonagall had once said, he had a proclivity for pyrotechnics – especially when it involved them exploding in his general vicinity.

“Ma’am,” Seamus began and at once felt the full force of her eyes on him. He desperately wished he could remember her name, but it wasn’t coming to him and he was actually a little afraid to ask. “As I’ve explained before to you via owl, the lifetime warranty only covers malfunctions due to a mistake on our part. Those look wet to me, and those particular fireworks are close to muggle ones, and as such they cannot be doused in water or they won’t work. We generally don’t douse them in water before selling them to clients, so it must have been something that happened on your end.”

He watched her face slowly change from angry to, quite curiously, amused. She even chuckled a bit. “Magical fireworks. That aren’t impervious to water. That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” She outright laughed then, and despite being very unnerved by this sudden change in emotion, Seamus had to admit that she had a very nice laugh. Distinctive, but not over-powering. Not like the rest of her personality.

She looked at him expectantly, and Seamus wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. He’d told her the truth numerous times now, but she didn’t seem inclined to believe him. What else could he possibly say to convince her? He groaned inwardly. It was times like these when he wished George wouldn’t just disappear sometimes off on a trip for some mysterious quantity or substance to use in a new product. That Weasley, unlike the others, was excellent at talking to customers, women especially. Seamus was a self-proclaimed anti-ladies’ man. That was why he hadn’t been on a date in over a year. Creating accidental explosions over dinner weren’t really what most women found to be an attractive quality in a man.

“Do you understand how fireworks work, ma’am?” Her face went cold with disdain and Seamus immediately realized that had been the wrong direction to take. This was why he usually didn't talk to customers.

“Do I look like a ninny to you, Mr. Finnigan?”

“N-no, no of course not, ma’am,” he stammered. This was going worse than he’d imagined.

“Good because I am not a ninny. And I bloody well know how fireworks work. What I don’t know is why some idiot decided not to make _magical fireworks_ impervious to water.”

Seamus took a deep breath and tried to control his temper. _He_ had been the idiot who’d decided not to make those fireworks impervious to water. Though he hadn’t really had a choice in the matter. He’d used too much of the muggle technique to add in that magic, it could only take so much and he hadn’t seen the point of wasting what magic he would be able to use on making them impervious. Seamus had thought that the warning label would have been good enough, and George had loved the fireworks so much he’d agreed. He’d thought, only an idiot would let fireworks get wet - even the magical ones. He hadn’t wanted to think this woman was an idiot, but evidence was pointing otherwise.

“I was that idiot, actually,” Seamus said flatly. She had the courtesy to look embarrassed but managed to recover quickly.

“So these bloody useless things,” she shook the fireworks, that looked sadder and soggier by the minute, “are your responsibility.”

“No, they are your responsibility.” He wasn’t about to explain the reasoning behind that again. “So unless you have any other questions, I will be wishing you good day because I have work to do.” And he moved past her to feign rearranging some stock on shelves. Anything so she would leave. A few moments later though, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Seamus frowned and turned around. This was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I demand my refund.” Her lips were pursed into a grim line and her nostrils were flared a bit. She stared him down and Seamus stared right back. He had tried to be polite, but that hadn’t worked. She had insulted his workmanship and his intelligence and he’d had it. So he did the one thing George had told him never to do.

He decided to say no to a customer.

“No. You don’t get a bloody refund for a lack of intelligence on your part.” As soon as the words escaped, Seamus reconsidered the amount of tact he’d used. Perhaps a bit more would have been wise. But he was too annoyed to think clearly in that moment. He was practically seeing red – and not just the woman’s hair.

She gasped. “How dare you!” Each word was emphasized with a slap across his chest with the soggy bunch of fireworks. Seamus eyed them warily. They were finicky, prone to go off randomly and without much ceremony. He’d heard, though not seen personally, that sometimes they were able to go off while damp. The last thing he wanted George to come back to was an indoor fireworks show to rival the one he and Fred gave at Hogwarts their seventh year.

Seamus grasped her shoulders and moved her out of his way as gently as possible. “You, madam, need to leave now,” he called over his shoulder as he walked toward the back of the shop, where his worktable was set up. He had an urge to reexamine the possibility of making this particular brand of fireworks impervious, if only so he would never have to deal with such an annoying customer ever again.

He heard a frustrated squeal and the angry click of a woman’s boots on hardwood floor coming after him. Seamus managed to reach the doorway before she caught hold of his shirt and forced him to turn around. “I will sue you within an inch of your life,” she threatened, and if he’d thought her eyes looked like lightning before, they certainly did now.

Seamus reigned in his anger for a moment though. “Sorry love, employees only back here,” he said before stepping through the frame and promptly shutting the door in her face. George was going to kill him, they had an, until then, flawless reputation for customer service, but it had been worth that last sentence to see the enraged look on her face. Bloody customers, he couldn’t stand them some days.


	2. ii.

Hazel was used to the glittering tosh and posh of politically-charged parties, but that didn’t mean she liked them that much. If given the choice, she would much rather avoid the nonsense, but her mother was somewhat important, and if she didn’t go it would be considered a “ _great and terrible disgrace to the family name,_ ” and besides, “ _didn’t she want to show support for her mother’s bid at Minister of Magic?_ ”

If Hazel was being honest, and she generally was with herself, she did not think her mother would make a good Minister of Magic, and so she was more than a little reluctant to show support for her mother’s bid, family ties or not. The previous minister, Kinglsey Shacklebolt, was rumored to be stepping down at any time, due to some familial issues – or so she’d heard. Something to do with his wife and raising their children in such a glaring spotlight. Hazel would _hate_ that. It was why she refused to allow her mother to set her up on dates. She knew exactly who they would be with – any and every eligible, similarly politically aligned young bachelors. There were more of them than one might have thought. And she would rather cut off a toe than be roped into a marriage with one of those clod-heads.

She needed someone who, first, wasn’t politically aligned with her mother and second, had passion for something. Anything, really, as long as it wasn’t for politics. Unbidden, the image of Seamus Finnigan appeared in the forefront of her mind. She shoved it aside but it kept coming back, like an annoying bug. And the other day she had certainly wanted to squash him like a bug. He’d been terribly rude and inconsiderate. He hadn’t even tried to see her side of the situation. It wasn’t _her_ bloody fault that the bloody fireworks she’d bought, incidentally for the same charity ball she was currently attending, had wound up wet. She’d had nothing to do with it – and had a sinking suspicion her younger brother had. Either way, it wasn’t her fault and she deserved new fireworks, Seamus Finnigan and his “company policies” be damned.

Unfortunately, it did not look as though she would ever be reimbursed and her mother would not get the fireworks she’d hoped for because instead of just shoving her pride back down her throat and buying new fireworks, Hazel had stomped out of Weasley’s Wizard Wheazes in a fashion similar to her five year old niece. She still hadn’t told her mother about that unexpected change in plans. Hazel figured she would realize eventually, when no fireworks ever went off. Of course, that would surely lead to being dragged off into some corner and furious whispering masked to look like a friendly conversation. Her mother was nothing if not predictable thanks to the politics she lived and breathed.

Hazel sighed and saw her mother casually heading in her direction. She decided to make the unwise decision and adjourn to the refreshments table. She wouldn’t be able to put off the conversation forever, but she would certainly postpone it for as long as possible. Besides that, she was thirsty and a flute of butterbeer was calling her name. They also had champagne, of course, and the butterbeer was really only for the underage among them, but Hazel had never really liked the taste, or influence on her mental faculties, of alcohol. Looking like an underage witch was the sacrifice she would make, and gladly. She didn’t like to remember what had happened the last time she’d consumed too much champagne. It had been a wedding, which made the situation all that much worse.

She hugged one arm across her chest and sipped her drink slowly as she watched the whirling couples on the dance floor. It was making her dizzy just watching them. Hazel had never been a dancer. She’d hated going to the Yule Ball her sixth year, she was all left feet and her date had abandoned her for someone from Beauxbatons who was, presumably, as light as a fairy after Hazel had stepped on his foot one too many times. Since then, she’d avoided dancing, and parties where dancing would occur, in general. It seemed safer for everyone involved, and a significant amount less mortifying for her.

Hazel heard a cough, one too loud and pointed to be real, from behind her and turned to see the culprit. She blanched when she saw him. Seamus Finnigan, looking terribly unfortunate in ratty, old-looking dress robes. If her mother saw him she would have a fit and quite possibly demand to see his invitation. Speaking of, Hazel did not remember seeing his name on the guest list.

“You!” She had been planning on saying something terribly intelligent and witty, but then that came out and she found herself jabbing an indignant finger at the only-slightly-taller-than-her man. Hazel hadn’t noticed it before, but now, compared to all the above average height men in the room, Seamus was rather short. For a man, at least. But that was beside the point. The point was, why was he at her mother’s party?

He arched an eyebrow, expression neutral as he lifted his flute of champagne to this mouth and took a sip. When he was done he set the flute down on the table and folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, me. What’s it to ya?”

Hazel crinkled her nose. His accent grated on her, not in an unpleasant way… but she wasn’t exactly sure what to think of it. She wasn’t used to it, that was all, she told herself. “What are you doing here? You are not on the guest list,” she said, folding her arms to mimic his.

Seamus rolled his eyes. “Because I don’t _have_ to be.”

It was Hazel’s turn to arch a brow. “Oh really? And who said that?”

“That would have been me. So sorry to cause you trouble Ms. McDonald, I really didn’t mean to.” A hand clamped down on Hazel’s shoulder as she took in the familiar voice of Harry Potter. The party was in his honor, sort of. Her mother was using him as an excuse to throw a party for herself and he’d been a good sport about the whole thing, which she appreciated.

“I, oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Potter,” she gushed, fairly certain she was blushing beet red. She should have known, Seamus and Harry must have been friends when they were at Hogwarts together. They had both been in Gryffindor, she did remember that much, even though she was a few years older.

Harry grimaced and shook his head. “Harry, please. And if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Hazel. Mr. Potter makes me feel old, I don’t think I deserve that title quite yet.” He chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. Instead of making her feel better, as she was sure the gesture was meant to, Hazel felt a little sick. She could only hope her mother hadn’t seen the exchange.

“Well, alright, if you insist Mr. P—Harry,” she finished and tried to smile. From the look on Seamus’s face, it was more probable that it came out looking like a fairly frightening grimace.

“Great! Now I hope it really isn’t too much trouble that I dragged an old friend along to this, is it?” he smiled and Hazel only had the energy to shake her head and hope her mother wouldn’t find out.

“No, of course not. Mr. Finnigan is more than welcome,” she said even though she didn’t mean a word of it. Seamus smiled cheekily at her from across the table and she wanted to collapse in a heap of dress robes and Hazel on the floor. This was why she wasn’t an event planner – she couldn’t handle the stress of responsibility.

With a nod to both of them, Harry walked off, presumably to join his girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, leaving Hazel alone with Seamus once again. He still had the smug look on his face and she frowned. “Oh come off it, how was I supposed to know?”

Seamus shrugged. “You wouldn’t, but I guess that just means ya should be nicer to people.”

She frowned. “I’m a very nice person.” He’d picked up the flute again, but ended up snorting into it, causing champagne to go everywhere. Hazel was only a little ashamed to admit that she enjoyed the look of discomfort on his face from some of it going up his nose. He deserved it. She was a nice person. He’d just always been around for the bad parts, which wasn’t her fault. “Well if you would have given me the bloody fireworks, I’m sure you would have seen exactly how nice of a person I can be,” she lowered her voice to say as she leaned across the table.

Seamus mimicked the gesture until their faces were inches away. Hazel hadn’t realized his eyes were blue before. She loved blue eyes. And his were very, very blue. There was a sparkle in them though that she didn’t trust, and was almost positive it meant nothing good for her. “Oh? And what do ya mean by that? Maybe I should have given you the fireworks after all.” His voice insinuated a lot more than she had meant and Hazel shot backwards.

“ _Of all the_ —!” She glared at him for a good ten seconds before whirling around and stomping through dancing couples to the other side of the ballroom. How dare he insinuate she, well, she didn’t even want to think about what he’d actually been insinuating. The smug bastard.


	3. iii

The taste of the champagne had gone flat after Hazel stomped away. He’d gone back over her letters a few hours after their meeting, and discovered her name. Hazel McDonald. Her last name was the only reason he’d allowed Harry to drag him to this posh-tosh event. He hated places like this. Too much champagne, not enough firewhiskey. And the dancing. Cor, the dancing.

  
Seamus was not a dancer. He’d avoided it completely during the Yule Ball his fourth year. The lessons had been bad enough, but the actual practice was a surefire way to embarrass oneself when one had two left feet and no foot-hand-eye coordination. It was a bunch of complicated rubbish, in his opinion. And the small talk that went along with it. The small talk in general at functions like this was enough to send a man to his early grave. And it was almost enough to send him running from the place and back to his workshop. He still hadn’t managed to make the fireworks water impervious, but it was as if Ms. McDonald had raised a red flag in front of a bull. Seamus was determined to find a way.

  
The only reason Seamus didn’t leave right then and there was not because Harry would assuredly be peeved with him for leaving him to fend for himself, but because he was determined to finish whatever it was that Ms. McDonald had started between them. He didn’t know what it was about her. She looked too much like a Weasley too really interest him, or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. Her hair wasn’t really that red, more of a strawberry blonde in the right light. She wasn’t freckled, and her face was more angular than round. Her eyes though, that was the biggest difference. They were the same shade of blue the sky in Ireland was after a storm. It was fitting; Hazel was a storm.

  
Seamus raised the flute to his lips and tipped it back until all the alcohol was gone. There was nothing like a little liquid courage; although, he didn’t expect to get much of a boost from such a little glass of champagne. Give him a shot or two of firewhiskey any day; that would be sure to help. He strode in the direction he’d seen her stomp off in, through the whirling, twirling couples. By the time he was on the other side of the ballroom, he’d apologized at least five times for trodding on toes and being a general nuisance, but his efforts paid off. Hazel hadn’t gone anywhere, he recognized the flushed back of her neck, revealed barely by the loose chignon that held her hair. In the lighting it was vibrant, alive almost.

  
He had to stop for a moment, almost as if he had to catch his breath. He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before, or maybe he had and ignored it, but she was stunning. Even if at first glance she did look a bit like Weasley. He walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled and her dress hit the tops of his shoes as she spun. Hazel’s face was white, whiter than it should have been, except for two bright spots on her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted and there was a panic in her eyes. Seamus almost took a step back. He didn’t want to think that was the effect he had on her. He wanted to make her light up like a candle, he wanted to set her on fire, release that blazing passion she’d directed at him the other day at the shop. It drew him in like a moth to a flame.

  
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, recovering quickly and taking a calculated step back. It was close enough that he could easily hear her, but far enough that they couldn’t even remotely be considered to be sharing space. Seamus chuckled and arched a brow.

  
“Why? Are you afraid you’ll fall in love with me?” He wasn’t even sure why he’d said it, but the way she looked at him after he had made it all worth it. It also made him want another glass of champagne in his hand, as small as they were.

  
“No!” she answered quickly, almost too quickly. As if realizing her mistake, the spots of color brightened and spread. Seamus didn’t know why he wanted to keep baiting her, it would probably only make her like him less, but he wanted to see her personality, the real one, more than anything. But, now wasn’t the time for that, not with her looking like a scared rabbit.

  
Seamus took a step closer. “Whatever you say, darling,” he whispered and he saw her stiffen sharply. That was more like it. It wasn’t as if he’d expected her to soften or open up to him.  
Hazel took another step back, retreating from him further emotionally as well as physically. “We’re done here,” she whispered.

  
“Alright,” Seamus said. “If that’s the way you want to leave it.” He backed up a few steps and nodded at her before turning around and walking away. He had to find Harry and get out of this place. It was messing with his head and making him think and do things that he never would under normal circumstances. This was the hellion from the other day, for Merlin’s sake. He wasn’t attracted to her.

 

Hazel looked down at her hand to see it was visibly shaking. Shocked, she folded it behind her with the other and leaned against the wall behind her. Seamus Finnigan. She tasted and tested his name as she mulled over the feelings he inflamed within her. Anger, frustration, and desire, surprisingly enough. She pushed the last one down deep in a dark corner of her mind to be thought about and examined later. For now, she wasn’t by herself, she was surrounded by sharks in the water. Steadying her hands in front of her, Hazel took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face before she rejoined the party under the ever-watchful eyes of her mother.


End file.
